


Dancing Flames

by Malkontent



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - Fandom, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Bonfires, Character Death, Cults, Death Rituals, Fire, Great Old Ones, Human Sacrifice, Not Really Character Death, Other, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malkontent/pseuds/Malkontent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writen for Kink Bingo 2013 for the "Rituals" square.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing Flames

I am the fire.

I am the kindling.

I am the crackle and roar of a thousand flames that flare and dance and sputter.

I am the thick, black smoke that fills your lungs in the night, circling up into the ebon sky, tendrils snaking among the revelers.

The air is hot in the clearing. Red light flickers from the bonfire. The sweet odors of smoke and sweat and blood stain the swirling breeze. 

Drums sound in a monotonous cadence, deep, shaking booms like rolling thunder. Beneath them the mad voices of the faithful gibber and wail in ecstasy and agony and terror and rapture.

Into the hot night air I walk, naked as the wind. Beneath my feet I feel the rich, dark hummus of the forest floor. Like the trees that surround me my roots reach deep, mingling with the worms and spiders and unknowable things that lurk in the depths of the earth.

The drums are silenced. The revelers pause in their dance and all eyes turn to me. For a long while all is still.

I gaze about me, cold eyes lingering on my brethren. Their eyes reflect the light of the fire, dancing in the black night. They stare at me, through me. In me they see the flames of the divine. The chrysalis of that which is and has been and will be again.

I am neither man nor woman. Such distinctions are beneath the notice of the Old Ones, who have never known the prison that is our pathetic flesh.

When I speak, my voice is like the screeching of eagles, like the crash of thunder in the mountains. I am the wind and the blood and the earth and the fire.

“Ia! Ia! Lath’mish r’kathwah! Shub Niggurath gwah’mgt ia fthwel ar’thmg! Ia thr’desh ftagn Malwah!“

The roar from the crowd is unearthly in tenor. The wild ululations ring out in the forest. A thing that was once a doctor beats its breast in savage abandonment. Another throws back its head and howls to the empty sky.

They descend on me at once, as one creature. I feel their hands and mouths and members on my naked flesh. In the darkness they take me. In the light they violate me. They join with me as one in ways unknown to the minds of men. I am filled with their seed and their blood.

To the fire they lead me. To the flames I offer myself. As they hoot and dance and scream I climb the burning logs. There is no pain as the charred skin of my hands and knees and chest sloughs away. My mouth opens and the hellish growl that emerges is not my own.

“Ia Shub Niggurath! Ia!”

I stand atop the pyre, my earthly prison burning in divine glory. I am one. I am many. I am the Black Goat. I am the thousand young that devour the world.

I am the fire.


End file.
